


The Progress of Spring

by IgnobleBard



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bromance to Romance, Elves, M/M, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Road Trips, Second Chances, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 09:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13610043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/pseuds/IgnobleBard
Summary: When Glorfindel and Gildor travel to the Havens, Glorfindel discovers the love he's lost is nothing compared to what he's found.





	The Progress of Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/gifts).



> Written for Alexcat for the 2018 My Slashy Valentine fiction swap.
> 
> Request: Fluff, humor, light romance/bromance, a ridiculous argument, the word obnoxious, friendship.
> 
> Many grateful thanks to my awesome betas, Oshun and Glorfindel, without whom I would drown in my own redundancy.

And men have hopes, which race the restless blood  
That after many changes may succeed - Tennyson

******

Glorfindel was trying to decide which shirt to pack when a knock came at the door. The blue brought out the color of his eyes but Finrod had always said he looked good in green. Another knock sounded and he hastily stuffed the green shirt into his pack before going to answer it. Gildor greeted him with a smile, sweeping into the room with a brisk, elegant stride.

“I just dropped by to see if you are ready,” he said. “The company will be leaving in a half hour.”

“Almost,” Glorfindel replied. “There is a Dwarven rune stone of sea glass around here somewhere I wanted to give to Círdan.” He glanced around then went to rummage through a couple of drawers. “Yes, here it is!” He held the stone up triumphantly, wrapped it in a cloth and put it in with his clothing.

“The blue is a good choice,” Gildor observed, eyeing the shirt on Glorfindel’s bed. 

Glorfindel thought to explain but then decided against it, so into his pack it went. “I want to thank you for your invitation to join the company. It is long since I have looked upon the blessed realm, and I have been restless of late.”

“I was hoping you would want to join us. Your restive spirit has not gone unobserved this past season.”

“Elrond?”

Gildor smiled. “Not only Elrond.”

“I guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought.” Glorfindel chuckled. “At any rate, I don’t feel my presence is needed in the valley at the moment so it’s a perfect time to do some traveling.”

“The company feels the same. They and Círdan’s men are all eager to return to the Havens now that the promise of spring is in the air.”

“Some of them undoubtedly wish to sail,” Glorfindel said offhandedly.

Gildor averted his gaze and shifted his stance. “Yes, there is that also.”

Glorfindel put a hand on Gildor’s shoulder and looked into his eyes, taking heart at the courage and hope he saw there. “One day we will sail you and I, and then, perhaps, our sadness will lie in what we have left behind here.” 

“That is a sadness I will relish,” Gildor said with a gleam in his eye. He turned to the door as though keen to leave Glorfindel’s rooms. “But now I must gather my things and get to the courtyard before the company leaves without me, and you must do the same.” He hastened from the room as swiftly as he had come.

Glorfindel understood his friend’s melancholy, for he struggled with such feelings too. Though they had never discussed it, he knew Gildor wanted to leave but was tasked, as were they all, with finishing the fight they had started when they exiled themselves from Aman. It was difficult to watch friends sail, knowing it was not yet your time. A burdensome duty, but one the Noldor had never shirked despite the personal cost. 

He gathered his gear, and with one last look around to ensure he hadn’t left anything important behind, went to meet the company in the courtyard. The assembly wasn’t large, Elves didn’t travel in large numbers unless going to war, but it was an eclectic assembly, with Noldor of Gildor’s wandering company, tall and refined, along with the boisterous seafaring Sindar of the Havens. Elrond came to see them off, giving Glorfindel a letter for Círdan and correspondence and small gifts for some of his old friends from the days of Gil-Galad’s rule.

“I hope you find what you seek this trip,” Elrond said. “Just remember that looking into a palantír can be a double-edged sword, especially when one’s heart is in two places.”

“Aren’t you the ray of sunshine,” Glorfindel teased, sobering when met with a raised eyebrow. “You’re right, of course, but you don’t have to worry. I understand the situation. I just want to see him again.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but Elrond had mercy on him and pretended to believe.

“I understand that desire, and I’m glad you will have the opportunity.” Elrond gripped his forearm and clapped him heartily on the shoulder, though he couldn’t mask his concern to Glorfindel’s observant eye. They had a way of reading each other’s moods that made it difficult at times but anchored their friendship deep. “Enjoy the journey. Spring in the valley will be less lively without you.”

“It will be more lively without his moping,” Gildor broke in with a grin, overhearing Elrond as he strode over to them. “Don’t worry, my lord, I shall take good care of him.”

Elrond smiled at Gildor warmly. “I am counting on it.”

He took his leave after a brief word with a couple of other members of the party and the group set out, Gildor and Glorfindel leading the way. A walk through the valley was always a pleasure and today was no exception. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun warming the soft, chill breeze that caressed their faces and hair. Here and there a tree put forth new buds and wildflowers poked their heads out of the muddy ground. The company chatted amiably or sang snatches of song as they walked at a leisurely pace.

It felt good to Glorfindel to be enjoying the valley with no sense of urgency. No patrols to organize, escorts to schedule, or scouting reports to analyze. Like everyone who worked too hard and took on too much, he felt a pang of unease, running through lists and situations in his mind, feeling as though there was something he had forgotten. Gildor saw his furrowed brow and nudged him with an elbow.

“You look deep in thought,” he said. “Anything you’d like to share?”

“It’s nothing,” Glorfindel said. “Just thinking about various tasks that need to be done and whether that will happen without me there to oversee it.”

Gildor shot him a look then realized he was joking, at least in part. “The time has come to let all that go and enjoy the journey. No one is indispensable, not even you.” He paused, then grinned. “Well, maybe you, but you still need to get away once in awhile.”

“I don’t feel guilty about it, it’s just hard to let go.”

“I’d say I understand, but I really don’t. Even with the safety and beauty of Imladris, I can’t confine myself to one place. Wanderlust has always been in my blood.”

“I grew so used to the restrictions of Gondolin that the open road still seems too. . . unstructured, though even in Valinor I didn’t travel often. I took a trip with Ecthelion once to Alqualondë, but that was a very long time ago.”

“You must have been quite young.”

“I was, but it was good to be young in those days.”

“Indeed it was. I wish we had known each other then.”

“What fun we would have had! But we moved in different social circles then.”

“I remember. You were with Fingolfin’s clan most of the time, and even then I was prone to wandering the lonely places. I never enjoyed city life.”

“Yes, it was one big, extended family, never a dull moment with that bunch. Though there were times I would have gladly followed you into the wild.”

Gildor chuckled. “Perhaps when we return to Aman I will show you some of my favorite old places. The lands here are just as fair though, but more dangerous.”

“And the weather isn’t always as pleasant,” Glorfindel added.

They chatted together companionably, as was their wont, walking with matching, long-legged strides. Glorfindel’s cares and concerns fell away with each meadow of newly sprouted grass and bare grove of elm and larch they traversed. In this way, the day moved along as swiftly as their elven pace.

They continued through the valley that day but would not leave its environs until the morrow. That night they camped close to the Bruinen, keeping their fire and voices low. The wild lands beyond the valley were not secure and they didn’t want to alert any servants of the enemy to their presence. There had been no incidents in many years but caution was always the watchword in unprotected lands, where there was always the chance of being overheard by unwanted folk or beasts. 

When they bedded down that night, Gildor put his bedroll close to Himdaen, second of his company. Glorfindel did not know the man well, but he was exceptionally fair of face, with canny blue-grey eyes and jet black hair. He was devoted to Gildor and it was said he had taken an arrow for him during one of the battles of the Second Age. Glorfindel had to wonder if there was more to their association than mere friendship. Not that it was any of his business, but he liked Gildor a great deal and didn’t want anyone to take advantage of his generous nature. He sighed and settled in his bedroll in the midst of the wandering company, ashamed of his uncharitable thoughts. There was a time, he reflected, when he and Finrod would have presented such an expression of friendship without a care for how it might have looked to any other. The thought made him smile, melting his ill mood. He wandered the well-worn paths of such memories until sleep took him a short time later. 

In the morning they rose one by one until the last sleepy Sinda was awakened by the general bustle of the camp. After a quick breakfast, they set out again. Just before midday they crossed the Bruinen. The instant they did, the temperature dropped precipitously and they were forced to pull their cloaks about them. Winter had not fully surrendered its grasp here and the ground was still hard beneath their boots. Glorfindel had expected the weather to be harsher than in the valley but wasn’t quite prepared for the lash of the cold headwind they spent the day walking into.

There was little singing or playful banter that day. By the time they were ready to make camp, the company was exhausted from the cold and the steady, brisk wind. Glorfindel offered to go hunting while a fire and hot beverages were being prepared. 

“It’s not likely I’ll find much success in this weather but it’s worth a try. Maybe the exercise will warm me.”

“I will go with you,” Gildor said. “You should not go into the wild alone. There is always the chance of Trolls or Goblins coming down from the mountains and skulking in the forests around here.”

“No, I’ll be fine. There is no reason for you to leave the warm fire, the first bit of comfort we’ve had today. I can take care of myself.”

“There is no doubt of that, however, I still think it’s wise to have someone along.”

“Perhaps, but I would still rather go alone. I promise not to tarry.”

“But I know the area better than you, I. . .” Gildor stopped and then nodded. “Very well, but be careful and do a birdcall if you run into trouble.”

“What bird?”

“How about a jackdaw? They are known to be impulsive.” Gildor suppressed a grin but not before Glorfindel saw the shadow of it on his lips.

His eyes flashed and he stiffened. “Good idea,” he retorted. “Perhaps you could answer with the call of a magpie. They are known to be obnoxious.”

Gildor, unperturbed, did a perfect magpie call, which was answered distantly by a real magpie.

Glorfindel’s anger dissipated at the absurdity of the situation and he gave a surprised laugh. “All right, have your fun at my expense. You’ll sing a different song when I return with a deer.”

“Then, by all means, bring back a deer,” Gildor teased. “I need to warm up something and it might as well be my voice.”

Glorfindel would have replied if he could have thought of a snappy rejoinder. As it was, he just shook his head and left to do some exploring. He sensed that Gildor might be giving him a hard time because he knew the “hunt” was just an excuse to do some patrolling to make sure there were no lurking dangers in the area. It was difficult to let go of old habits, even when on holiday.

As predicted his efforts on both fronts were unsuccessful, but Glorfindel returned satisfied that all was well, even if he was chilled to the bone. Gildor and Himdaen were huddled by the fire with cups warming their hands. Gildor was laughing heartily at some remark and Glorfindel felt a stab of irritation again before putting it aside. He didn’t even know if Gildor was laughing at something Himdaen had said or if it was one of the other members of the party. Aerlir, one of the Sindarin mariners, saw him coming and handed him a drink when he entered camp.

“A little hot cider to warm you,” he said. 

“Thank you, I can certainly use it.” Glorfindel took a sip and instantly felt a pleasant warmth spread through him, as comforting as a blanket. He gave Aerlir a surprised look and the man winked. 

“Hard and hot, that’s how we like it, right lads?” He raised his cup then drained it in one gulp. The others shouted in agreement and did the same.

Glorfindel grinned at their exuberance then drank his cider in one gulp as well, though it almost made him choke. He held out his cup for more, which Aerlir refilled with gusto, then went to take his rest before the fire, feeling quite cozy, not even caring that Gildor and Himdaen were chatting without noticing his arrival. There was a pot of some sort of stew on the fire that smelled delicious and tasted even better when it was dished up shortly after.

Finally, fed and warm and content, they sat around the fire sharing tales of adventures on land and sea. 

Aerlir told of a time his ship had gotten lost in a storm and how he and his crew had discovered the isle of Himling. No one had realized up to that point that the fortress of Maedhros had escaped the reshaping of the world. Since its discovery, it had become a haven for scholars and historians in the area. 

Himdaen then told of the time he and Gildor had traveled into Khand and had been mistaken for a pair of merchants who had cheated the local potentate out of a Mûmak he had purchased from them. The man hadn’t believed them, even when they revealed themselves to be Elves, and they had been forced to flee back across the border under the cover of night.

He related the story with such humor and panache that Glorfindel found himself laughing along with the others at the preposterousness of two Elves being mistaken, even for a moment, for Haradrim merchants. His attitude toward Himdaen thawed as he began to understand why Gildor thought so highly of him. It seemed he had been too quick to judge them both.

Glorfindel thought he knew Gildor well from their many evenings of quiet conversations in the Hall of Fire or playing chess or comparing notes on rumors they had heard from far lands. The man was fascinating company, his blithe personality and ready humor made him a fast, cherished friend. Now, Glorfindel realized, there was more to Gildor than he suspected. Tales of narrow escapes, of courageous deeds in enemy lands, were lurking below his placid surface and he wanted to know them all!

When they made up their bedrolls that night they set a watch as a precaution. Glorfindel offered to take the first shift and another of the Sindarin mariners offered to take the second. Himdaen and Gildor not only put their bedrolls side by side but they also shared a blanket against the cold night. The sight now gave Glorfindel naught but fellow feeling. He pulled his cloak tighter about him, peering into the darkness of the thicket where they had made their camp. There was nothing to do the whole of his watch so he merely stoked the fire from time to time or strolled the perimeter, weapon at hand, listening for any threatening approach. When he finally went to his bedroll and cocooned himself in the warmth of his blankets it felt like the best part of the trip so far.

It turned out Glorfindel was right to enjoy his truncated sleep, for the next evening on the road it poured rain and they were forced to call an early halt and fashion makeshift shelters using the tarps from their bedrolls to keep the water off. The wind no longer plagued them but as night fell the rain became sleet. Everyone was miserable and grumpy that night eating their dry rations. Of course, having no fire also meant no cheerful songs or stories. They were chilled through by the damp air and no one got more than an hour or two of rest. Fortunately, the foul weather passed through during the night and they woke to cloudy, but dry, skies which carried through the day.

After they passed through this patch of bad weather they made better time and the next couple of weeks were lovely with sunny skies and warmer temperatures. They were all back to their cheerful selves and the hunting proved good enough to spare them having to stop for rations in the tiny villages of Men along the East Road. 

When they reached the Shire their path became straightforward, though the terrain itself was hillier. Here spring was in full bloom. The hummocks were covered in a profusion of color, and quail and grouse ran before them when they came too close to their nests. The days were warming rapidly so the hunting was good, with only foxes and badgers for competition. They were all enjoying the trip so much that they slowed their pace a bit in order to thoroughly enjoy their journey. Glorfindel spent many happy hours chatting with members of the company, including Himdaen, whose company he enjoyed a good deal.

Glorfindel had only traveled through these lands once before, when he made his first journey from the Havens to Imladris upon his second arrival in Middle-earth, and even the Hobbits were not yet part of the landscape back then. They passed through areas dotted with small farms and communities of Halflings but they did not go out of their way to make their presence known.

One night they camped near a brook and saw trout darting in and out of the rocks. Glorfindel decided to try fishing as a change from the hunt. He was baiting the hook when Gildor stopped him.

“That’s not how you do it,” he said. “I can see fishing isn’t your forte. Here, let me show you.”

“No, I can do it myself!” Glorfindel said, shielding the hook and worm with his body like a petulant child. “I daresay I know as much about fishing as you.”

“Not by half you don’t,” Gildor said. “Just thread the worm on there like this.” He gently cajoled the hook and worm from Glorfindel and demonstrated his technique. 

“That won’t work, the fish will take the bait and you’ll be left with a bare hook and an empty stomach.”

“Trust me, that worm is on there for good!” Gildor insisted. “Just cast it in and you’ll see.”

“I will, but only to prove how wrong you are,” Glorfindel shot back. He took the makeshift fishing pole he’d made and flung the line in the water, where the hook promptly sank to the bottom.

Aerlir, who had been standing and watching the display with a grin on his face said. “You were both wrong about the bait, but your biggest mistake was not knotting the line to the hook before you cast it.”

He walked off, shouting to the Falathrim, “Hey, you should see what these guys just did!” while Glorfindel and Gildor exchanged embarrassed looks.

They continued on in peace since the lands of the Shire were well protected by the Dunedain Rangers, skirting Bree and the Old Forest until they reached the Far Downs. The closer they came to the Havens the more spring strengthened its hold upon the land and the more spirited the company became. Evenings now included bawdy tavern songs from the Falathrim mariners and stories and poems of Men the Noldor had heard on their travels.

It wasn’t until they neared Michel Delving that they ran into trouble. 

They were all bedded down for the night when Glorfindel heard his pack rustling. He had been sound asleep and the noise awakened him. He was so used to patrols that his senses were always alert for danger, even when sleeping, and even in possibly the safest place in Middle-earth at this point in time.

He looked across to Gildor, who could see the culprit he had his back to. Gildor winked and grinned at him. Glorfindel sprang up, startling the young halfling who tried to bolt but was not fast enough to escape two determined Elves.

“Oh ho! What have we here?” Glorfindel said, seizing the hobbit by the shoulders.

“A thief it would seem,” Gildor replied sternly.

The lad was shaking so hard Glorfindel almost couldn’t hold onto him. “I’m not a thief, sir, honest!” he cried. “It’s just that. . . I haven’t ever seen Elves before and I was afraid to talk to you so I came up when you were asleep, just to look, I didn’t mean any harm. Then I thought no one would ever believe me if I told them so I took something to prove I saw you.”

By now a few of the others had gathered around, listening to the conversation. Some looked amused, others were scowling. 

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Glorfindel asked. It actually wasn’t terribly late but it was past the bedtime of most youngsters. 

They were all smiling now. Himdaen whispered to Gildor that the youngster was bold for a halfling. Gildor nodded in agreement. They had never seen anything quite like it.

“I thought it would be an adventure to follow you and see where you’re going,” the youngster said proudly. Then he looked at the ground and shuffled his feet as he handed Glorfindel the sea glass rune stone. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s good to be daring, but accosting strangers is never a good idea,” Glorfindel admonished.

“I won’t do it again, sir,” the little hobbit vowed. “I learned my lesson, I promise!” and Glorfindel could not help but smile at the lad’s earnest sincerity.

“Very well, since you seem to be telling the truth I’ll allow you to keep the stone,” he said, handing it back. “But the next time you wish to meet an Elf, just walk up and introduce yourself. That’s the way to do it.”

The halfling took the stone and gazed upon it wide-eyed, holding it in his cupped hands like it was a precious jewel. “Oh, thank you!” he said, awestruck.

“Now, you had best be off home before you’re missed,” Glorfindel said, laying a kind hand on his shoulder.

The hobbit turned to leave, a big happy smile on his face.

“What’s your name, lad?” Glorfindel asked.

“Hildifons Took, sir. I’m from Tuckburrow but I’m visiting my uncle in Michel Delving.”

“Well met, Master Hildifons Took. Off with you now, and try to stay out of trouble.”

“I will, truly!” he said and scampered off into the dark.

“Do you think he’ll be all right?” Gildor asked. “The village is at least a league away.”

“I have no doubt he will,” Glorfindel said. “He’s the only danger we’ve met since we entered the Shire.”

Some of the others chuckled. They all then returned to their bedrolls and a satisfying sleep.

They continued their journey, enjoying the warm sunny days and cool nights as they made their way over the grassy downs. Then one day the White Towers came into view and the Sindar sent up a collective shout of joy. It gladdened Glorfindel’s heart to see everyone so excited. His own heart fluttered in anticipation. 

How he longed to look into Finrod’s vivid blue eyes, feel the warmth of his gentle smile, pledge himself to his love all over again. He remembered the night before he sailed, he and Finrod making love at an inn in Alqualondë both knowing the great risk and the very real possibility they would be separated forever. 

It was a night Glorfindel still carried in his heart. He thought on it often in the lonely watches of the nights in Imladris when, too restless to sleep, he would stand on his balcony and look to the West. Sometimes he thought he heard Finrod’s voice on the breeze or smelled his scent on the green shirt he had worn that night, the one he still took from his wardrobe on lonely nights and clutched desperately to his breast. The one he would wear when he climbed the tower and gazed into the seeing stone. It was all he could do not to run ahead of the rest of the party and storm the tower without even exchanging greetings with Círdan as protocol demanded.

But if there was anything he had learned in his long years it was patience, so he trooped along with the party, barely registering the high-spirited laughter and horseplay going on around him. Gildor did not pester him or try to engage him in small talk. He and Himdaen now walked together talking of their audience with Elbereth.

When they reached the Havens at last, Glorfindel inhaled the salt air with nostalgia and yearning. He wished things were different, but when bidden by the Valar, he had agreed to return to Middle-earth to renew, to inspire, the fight against Sauron. He knew the sacrifice he was making, yet neither would he have refused this task, nor would Finrod have asked it of him. They had parted with sadness, but also hope. No need for doubt or remorse now.

Círdan greeted them and offered them lodging at his home before their audience upon the morrow. Glorfindel gave him the letter and the tokens for his friends Elrond had sent, then told the story of how he had lost the sea glass rune stone to a curious young Hobbit.

“I only brought it to show you how far the influence of the Falathrim has spread. The dwarf who gave it to me said he got the glass from a merchant of Fornost years ago, who had gotten it from a Man from Dunland, who had gotten it from a Dwarf of the Blue Mountains. The trade routes are vital to the health of the economy this side of the Misty Mountains. Your people are doing well on land and sea.” 

“It is good to know our wares are being traded in distant lands. We strive to have a positive influence on the free peoples.”

When all the greetings were made, all the gifts and pleasantries exchanged, and a hearty supper was eaten, Glorfindel retired to his rooms. He stood looking upon the tower through most of the night, lost in thought and memory. He only realized he’d fallen asleep on his feet when the first light hit his open eyes and Finrod faded into the haze of his reverie. 

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and put on the green shirt he’d brought, hoping that Finrod would remember it with the fondness he did. Then he combed his hair until it shone like the gold to which it was so often compared. At breakfast, he feigned good humor, though inside he remained pensive. When Gildor and Himdaen came in shortly after, he greeted them warmly then, to show how blasé he was, he tucked into his breakfast as though his whole life wasn’t riding on the events of the day.

“Are you ready to go?” Gildor asked. Glorfindel, still caught up in his thoughts, nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Yes, yes of course. . . if you are,” he added.

“We are.” Gildor gave him an enigmatic smile. “When we go up, we will go in the room one at a time. You may go first if you like.”

Glorfindel was sure everyone could hear his heart beating. He nodded dumbly before he found his tongue. “That is kind of you. Yes, I would like that.”

A light rain was falling as they made their way to the tower. The wind was chill but invigorating and the sound of waves crashing upon the shore in their particular rhythm felt solid, comforting somehow. Glorfindel hoped it meant Ulmo was sending him a sign that all would be well.

They climbed the tower stairs single file, Glorfindel in the lead. When they reached the hallway they stood together in front of the door. Gildor put his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder.

“Good luck, my friend,” he said. He smiled reassuringly and Glorfindel felt a calming strength enter him. 

Drawing himself up, Glorfindel strode into the room like the brave warrior of his own legend. The room was tastefully ornate with colorful tapestries of Tol Eressëa in daylight and Alqualondë under starry skies. A fine red carpet with gold brocade held a large, carved wood pedestal upon which sat the Palantir. The great seeing stone was larger than Glorfindel anticipated, taking up a good deal of space in the rounded turret room. It looked like any polished stone until, at his approach, the colors within began to swirl and take shape. There the green lands of Aman were laid out for him under a sky of brilliant blue. Then he saw great waves of the sea, capped with white foam, rush to and from shore. A voice spoke from the stone, speaking Elvish with a voice bright and pure as the stars.

“What do you wish to see?”

He paused for one brief moment. “Finrod,” he asserted.

“Glorfindel, hero of old, slayer of demons, you shall see what you desire.”

The colors within the stone swirled wildly, blurred, shifted. Then, with sudden clarity, Finrod appeared in all his golden beauty, and Glorfindel’s breath caught to see him. He walked with a graceful, buoyant stride, his long single braid swaying between his broad shoulders. Glorfindel’s heart soared to see him so happy. He had dreamed of this day for so long.

But then, Finrod was greeting a beautiful woman with blonde tresses and loving eyes who smiled and welcomed him into her arms for an embrace. As Finrod kissed her, a small girl ran up and tugged on his sleeve. He reached down and scooped her up, pressing his lips tenderly to her little brow with a loving smile.

“Where have you and mommy been today?” he asked.

The child spoke something but Glorfindel had already turned away. His stomach churned, threatening to dispel his breakfast, and he clapped a hand over his mouth and went to the window, drinking in great draughts of air until his queasiness passed. Amarië! He had always known of her but there had been no indication of Finrod returning her affection. Not that he had ever suspected. Of course, Glorfindel had never broached the matter either; he could not bring himself to do so. 

“Are Finrod and Amarië married?” he asked the stone. He had to be sure.

“Yes,” the voice answered. “He was married, as the Valar foresaw, 300 years ago.”

“And the child?”

“The daughter of Finrod and his wife, Amarië.”

“Ai, Elbereth, why did I not see?”

“You saw what you wished to see.”

“You said the Valar foresaw this. Why was I not told?”

“Seeing has many ends. You know this.”

“But this outcome. . .”

“Grew stronger with your departure from these shores.”

Glorfindel balled up a fist and brought it hard down on the stone windowsill, welcoming the blossoming pain.

“Look around you, Glorfindel. Open your eyes to your own destiny, if you will.”

“What does that mean?” Glorfindel turned back to the stone but it was all swirling colors again that settled into a muddy yellow-brown. His audience was over.

He stood for a long moment with his eyes closed, willing the tears away, trying to purge the scene of his beloved from his mind’s eye. When he had sufficiently composed himself he put on as brave a face as he could muster and left the room. Himdaen went in next with barely a look at him, eager for his own session. The others were milling about chatting quietly. Gildor broke away from them when he saw Glorfindel exit the room and came to greet him.

“I can’t talk right now,” Glorfindel said brusquely, all but bolting down the stairs before Gildor could reply.

Glorfindel spent the next few hours wandering the seashore, feeling loathing for the ships that came and went from the harbor, feeling disgust at the mocking sound of the waves upon the rocks. He wished he had been content to stay in Imladris with his memories and let his destiny play out around him. A spray blown by the wind struck his face, stinging like tears. He gathered handfuls of his shirt and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Finrod’s scent was no longer there and he had to ask himself if it had ever been. Perhaps it had only ever existed in his feverish, foolish mind.

He was on his way back to Círdan’s house when he spied Gildor standing on the strand looking out to sea with a longing he was certain matched his own. When he saw Glorfindel’s approach, Gildor smiled openly, tucking a strand of hair, which Manwë seemed determined to sport with, behind his ear. He had barely completed the gesture when the wind sent the stray lock playing around his face again.

Glorfindel caught it and slipped it behind Gildor’s ear once more, his fingertips lightly brushing the delicate point as he did so. The wind fell away and they stood looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

Finally, Gildor spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no matter,” Glorfindel said, dropping his gaze. “I knew it all along. I just refused to see.”

“We are all blind to that which we don’t want to accept.” He sighed and took Glorfindel’s hand in his. “She told me my destiny still lies before me.”

“So does mine,” Glorfindel said. “She told me to keep my eyes open to discover it.” They looked at each other, understanding lighting their faces at same instant. Glorfindel’s cheeks reddened. He squeezed Gildor’s hand. Within his broken, wintry heart, a tender bud of hope raised its head.

“You know,” Gildor said with a knowing smile, “the green looks good on you, but the blue really brings out the color of your eyes.”


End file.
